


take my love in real small doses

by majesdane



Category: Repo! The Genetic Opera (2008)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-10
Updated: 2008-12-10
Packaged: 2017-12-06 09:00:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/733892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/majesdane/pseuds/majesdane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>It would be so much better if they were younger.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	take my love in real small doses

some piece of you stays in me and i'll never give it back.  
  
\-- dean young, 'poem without forgiveness'

 

 

In the mornings they sit together, side by side at the breakfast table, one hand on top of the other, as if they can't bear to be separated. She likes for it to be quiet then, to hear the sound of spoons hitting against porcelain bowls. She likes for it to be quiet, too, so that she can hear the dull beating of her own heart and know that her lover's is in entirely the same rhythm, in principle. Mag's thumb strokes the back of her hand. Marni scans the newspaper and with her free hand raises her coffee mug to her mouth, draining the last of its contents.

When the water splashes around them in the shower, dripping off of lips, noses, fingertips, and eyelashes, Marni puts her palm flat against Mag's cheek. She can feel the water running over, beneath her fingers as she leans in to kiss Mag, the warm water dripping into their mouths, mixing with their kisses. Mag sighs, the sound almost inaudible over the pounding of hot water as it hits the tile walls surrounding them. It has not rained in quite some time; Marni would like to imagine kisses in the rain, clothes wet and sticking to their bodies as they meet in the middle of the road, fingers tangling in wet hair and lips seeking out lips.

Mag's eyes are the color of dark mahogany, like the desk Marni's mother gave her when she was younger. It was her mother's and her mother's and tracing all the way back to days that Marni couldn't even begin to visualize. She can't think of the past, not when the present is so fully in front of her, in the form of Mag, flushed and arching on the bed beneath her. When Marni kisses her stomach, her lips come away tasting of salt. When she kisses Mag properly, tongue sliding along Mag's bottom lip, she comes away with the taste of mint in her mouth. It's the mouthwash Mag uses, before she goes to bed, before Marni crawls in beside her, the sheets cool against her bare legs.

It reminds Marni of ink spilt on parchment, Mag's dark hair on the off-white pillow. Light from the moon spills through the cracks in the curtains and Marni presses her face into the sheets. They smell faintly of cinnamon and it makes Marni think of autumn, of leaves turning shades of yellow, red, and orange, though she's never actually seen leaves that color before, excepting the times she has seen it on television. Mag's fingers run up and down the length of her arm, as if she is trying to read Marni like she was made of braille, each set of dots spelling out a letter, the secrets of her soul.

She hopes that Mag would share that knowledge with her, if she could decipher it all. She hasn't been able to do it herself.

She would like for Mag to be still when she touches her, hands moving over every curve and dip of her body. There is a song about young lovers' swan song and hands and eyes closed; Mag sings it sometimes, because she likes how it sounds, even if it is sad. Marni lies on the couch, head in her lap, as Marni strokes her hair. It is the song that was playing on the radio, October of twelfth grade, when, sitting in the backseat, Marni kissed the space below Mag's ear and Mag's breath caught her throat and her hand was pressed flat against Marni's back, as if to steady herself.

It would be so much better if they were younger, when they kiss in Mag's dressing room, Mag sitting on her vanity, Marni standing between her legs, while Nathan waits outside in the hallway. Mag says Marni's name in a way that makes her think this is for forever. Permanent. Mag's hands are on Marni's waist, pulling her to her, keeping her there. Marni does not think Mag would need to hold her there with hands, that there is a string tied to her heart and Mag is there, holding the end of it.

Mag's eyes are a blue that Marni has never seen, though sometimes it seems familiar, like the sky on days when it used to be bright out and clouds did not hang over the city like a shadow. Marni kisses Mag's neck through her hair, breathes in deeply; it smells of strawberry conditioner and soap. Mag's lashes beat against Marni's cheeks like butterflies when she kisses her, her lips soft, red with lipstick and sticky with lipgloss. Her tongue is the color of bubblegum. Marni wishes that she could speak in ways that made sense, that she could explain to Mag how sometimes it seems like she is drowning, completely unable to breathe.

When they fall apart, gasping, it feels like surfacing, breaking out through the water, lungs aching.


End file.
